Chapter 3 Colonialism and the Imagination of Pious Aceh, Ca
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Take down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. E-mail address: [email protected] Download date: 29. Sep. 2021 CHAPTER 3 COLONIALISM AND THE IMAGINATION OF PIOUS ACEH, CA. 1890-1942 ‘Here, everything speaks of struggle, resistance, hatred. Everything, except for the people.’ – Dr. J. Thijssen (1933). In May 2010 I told some friends in Juroung that I was about to leave for the West coast to conduct some interviews. I received different reactions. ‘It is very good that you go there,’ one said. ‘It is a very beautiful part of Aceh, very interesting, and very different from here. You should go and see for yourself’. Another agreed, but added that I should be ‘careful’ (hati-hati). ‘Why should I be careful?,’ I asked. ‘Because there is a lot of witchcraft over there (banyak ilmu gaib di Aceh Barat)’, he said. The others nodded fervently. One of them asked mockingly: ‘Are you scared?’ ‘No’, I said, ‘should I be?’ He then told us a story. His nephew drove to Meulaboh once, where he was invited into a road side coffee shop by people he had not met before. He refused politely, and had a drink at the neighbouring place instead. ‘This must have made someone angry’, my friend said, ‘because once he had finished his drink and tried to get up again, his chair was sticking to his behind, and his glass was sticking to his hand!’ We all laughed, especially because my friend was acting out the whole story as he was telling it. The conversation ended in a serious tone. ‘Just be careful where you go, what you eat or drink, and to whom you speak. Some people come back sick. Or worse.’ Black magic was a basic concern in both Juroung and Blang Daruet. However, for many of my interlocutors the West coast represented a place where the boundary between the visible world and the occult was particularly thin. This idea is rooted in a much older notion that, for many centuries, has categorised the West coast as an inaccessible, wild and relatively untrodden settler space. In the colonial period, this image was reproduced, and adapted to the progressive discourse of ‘development’. In his Land en Volk van Atjeh (‘The land and people of Aceh’; 1939), former Resident of Aceh J. Jongejans described the journey along the West coast as an adventure: a challenging ride over poor roads and wild river crossings, filled with spectacular coastal panoramas and tangible reminders of the war. Readers are told about the legendary origins of Tapaktuan, the vast coastal territory south of Meulaboh. Tuan, ‘saint of the sea’, chased a dragon into the sea , leaving behind his footprint (tapak) on the beach, as well as two impressive rock formations in the form of a hat and a stick. ‘A fisherman will never approach this koepiah (head covering) or toengkat (stick) deliberately, because this will bring bad luck. But should the wind and current take him in this direction by chance, and should his prao touch either one [of these rocks], it is a good sign’. The contrast with his description of the North coast is stark. Rather than the wonders of nature, remnants of war, or the perseverance of traditional beliefs, Jongejans makes note of immense rice fields, modern irrigation, fat buffaloes, crowded markets, busy workshops, a jetty for freighters, oil industry, plantations, as well as the ‘amusing, cosmopolitan’ town of Kuala Simpang marked by the influx of foreign capital. This chapter focuses on these associative binaries: West-North, wild-domesticated, dangerous-safe, backward-developed, heretical-orthodox. My main question is how these binaries were reproduced, adapted, and magnified in the colonial period. In particular, I am interested in investigating the historical connection between this discourse and the practice of framing ‘Acehnese’ ethno-religious identity in scripturalist, rather than pluralist or syncretist terms. Seen from the perspective of Batavia, the whole of Aceh was a 63 frontier region, that was to be civilised. But both Dutch administrators and indigenous elites experienced this process as gradual and unpredictable, constructing this cultural and geographic dichotomy along the way. In the 1920s, a social and intellectual distinction emerged in Aceh, similar to other parts of the archipelago and the Muslim world more broadly, between a current of progressive, or ‘modernist’ Islam, and a counter-current of conservative, or ‘traditionalist’ ulama. Reformist activists (who were sometimes referred to as the kaum muda, or ‘young group’, in contrast to the kaum tua, or ‘old group) regarded a scripturalist attitude toward Islam as a key condition for the creation of a Muslim modernity. In Aceh, a broad spectrum of associations, ranging from small, short-lived interest groups or ‘reading clubs’ to professionally ran regional branches of large activist organisations operating across Indonesia, began to influence social life, especially in urban contexts. These groups were part, in turn, of a much broader expansion of the public sphere (known in the broader context of (colonial) Indonesia as the pergerakan). This diversity has been driven from memory, however, by the activities of one group, called the Persatuan Ulama-Ulama Seluruh Aceh (‘All-Acehnese Organisation of Ulama’), or PUSA. Founded in 1939 by a group of reformist ulama from Aceh Besar and the North coast, PUSA was kindred to Muhammadiyah, the association of Muslim modernists founded almost two decades earlier in Yogyakarta. Its initial intention, in the words of a Dutch observer present at its foundational conference, was ‘to join together all those involved in Muhammadan education, to raise the level of [Islamic education] (...), to standardize it more or less, and adapt it to the demands of modern times’.1 What distinguished the PUSA from other modernist organisations was it regionalist focus, and its transformation, in the course of the Japanese occupation and the subsequent Revolution, from a religious and educational movement into a powerful political and military factor. In the literature about Aceh the PUSA-legacy of Islamic scripturalism has been invariably regarded as the major, or even single ‘indigenous’ expression of Acehnese modernity.2 In this framework, PUSA has been presented as a logical, even ‘inevitable’ reaction to colonialism. Rather than to view the colonial encounter primarily from the perspective of the events that followed it, however, I suggest approaching it as something which, by most of its contemporaries, must have been experienced as an open-ended process. While it is true that public expressions of modernity were increasingly influenced by definitions of ‘true Islam’, modernity existed in countless tonalities. This remains hidden from view, however, when we keep looking at history solely from the perspective of the ‘next war coming’ (Blom 2008). It is most crucial, then, to investigate the dichotomous discourses guiding Aceh on its ‘path to modernity’, and to deconstruct, simultaneously, the meaning of the very terms ‘Aceh’ and ‘Acehnese’. This chapter consists of four parts. The first and second section deal with the nature of Dutch colonialism in Aceh. I discuss the transition in the 1920s and 1930s from military to civil rule, its effect on colonial ideas about Acehnese indigeneity, and the formation of a Dutch-Acehnese Islam-policy, all of this against the background of 1 ‘Politiek verslag Atjeh en Onderhoorigheden over het 1e halfjaar 1939’, signed J. Hueting, Koetaradja, 25 August 1939; Nationaal Archief, Den Haag, Ministerie van Koloniën: Politieke Verslagen en Berichten uit de Buitengewesten, nummer toegang 2.10.52.01, inventarisnummer 7, microfische 106. 2 Piekaar, in his book about the Japanese occupation, stated that the PUSA was both distinctly modern, and a product of the ‘pure, religious character’ of the ‘sramòë Meukah’ (the Veranda of Mecca) (Piekaar 1949:18). Subsequent works, including that of Aspinall (2009), Isa Sulaiman (1985), Morris (1983), Reid (1979), and Siegel (1969) have also narrowed down the Acehnese colonial experience, pitting a communal, ‘Acehnese’ adherence to piety and religiously motivated (violent) resistance against the political dominance of ‘outsiders’. 64 continuing outbreaks of anti-Dutch violence. In the third and fourth section I move away from the focus on the state, drawing attention to religious practices, associational life and Islamic activism, including the establishment of the PUSA. From military occupation to civil government As a conclusion to his mission to Aceh in the early 1890s, Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje wrote a political advice to the Dutch military government, in which he argued that the ruthless persecution of hostile ulama, and anyone who might potentially associate with them, was the only possible way to keep the inherently ill-disposed Acehnese population under control.3 In the first decades of the twentieth century, the ‘Aceh report’ (Atjeh- verslag) was turned, by a succession of Dutch administrators, into a political doctrine, which was commonly referred to as the ‘Aceh policy’ (Atjeh-politiek).